At His Side
by ecol
Summary: A one-shot of Alexander Hamilton's death.


Red. Red. Red.

Fountains and fountains of blood are gushing, spilling onto the sheets. I cannot see through my tears, cannot breathe through the smell, cannot speak through a tightened throat.

Angelica lifts his legs up with a pillow that is blooded. He is coughing. Red, red, red.

I must appear more scared than I actually am. Angelica looks up at me. "Elizabeth, are you okay?"

I have to look away as tears tumble down my cheeks. The doctor rushes in, pushing my sister aside. Alexander coughs some more. More blood is delivered.

The doctor applies pressure to the wound, making Alexander scream out. From the trajectory of the bullet, he was hit in the lungs, or the stomach, maybe. He can't talk.

I get up onto the bed, my black dress covered in my husband's blood. I sit with my legs under me, taking his red hand in mine. I kiss his knuckle, gently, gently.

He mumbles something as the doctor grabs metal tongs. He throws his head left and right until he stares directly into my eyes.

"E, E," his mouth makes a creaking noise while trying to pronounce my name. I'm crying again as he grips my hand so hard that we shake.

"You're going to be okay, Alexander," I keep kissing his hand. Then, I go to push a couple pieces of hair out of his eyes. His forehead is drenched in sweat. I press a kiss to his cheek and mumble more words of comfort.

If only I could believe my own words.

The doctor has been digging into my husband's side with the tongs for about five minutes now. He yanks out the bullet, analyzing its shape. He puts it to the side, continuing to blot Alexander's wound.

Angelica sits in a chair in the corner, her dark circles becoming ever more prominent. The doctor turns to Angelica, wiping the blood off of his palms. He guides her out of the room with a swift gesture of his hand.

When they are gone, I set myself beside Alexander. He is laying with his body towards the ceiling, his toes pointing straight up. His head is turned slightly to the left in an effort to see me.

I lay down. Our hands together are heavy like rocks when I put my head on the pillow next to him. His violet eyes blink once, twice, three times. They close completely on the third time. I panic, gasping as air flies into my own chest. But then he opens his eyes again, blinks once, twice, three times.

We lay like this for hours, it feels like. A bit of blood dries at the side of his mouth from his coughing fit. His eyes are hazy, almost completely empty. I reach up and try to gently remove the blood from his face.

His stubble lays under the blood that I flake off. His firm jaw and sharp cheekbones are shadowed by the light flooding in from the window.

I kiss his jaw, pressing my forehead to his right cheek. "Alexander, you can't leave me like this."

He doesn't say anything. He just stares and stares, looking for something, anything.

"Please. You have babies, Alexander."

His breathing becomes rigid and heaving. He coughs again, getting blood on me. I don't even bother to wipe it away.

My pleading doesn't bring him back. Nothing can bring him back.

I feel his breath against my forehead, in and out. In and out. I fall asleep next to my Alexander for what I thought would be the last time.

 ****

 **My sleep is black. Angelica shakes me awake. Alexander is still at my side, our hands still intertwined.**

"Eliza, I need to talk to you." Angelica helps me rise. I stand, smoothing my dress out.

She holds my shoulders, rubbing her thumb against my skin. I am not alive, my brain is still somewhere else.

"It is very likely that Alexander is going to die," Angelica stares me down. I don't care. I don't care enough to faint, to cry. Alexander is going to die. "I'm sorry, Eliza."

"Okay." I nod slowly. I look back at Alexander. He looks peaceful. The wrinkles in his face are no longer as prominent, his graying hair is shining and supple.

I kiss Angelica's cheek. She returns to her chair in the corner of the room next to the bed. I lay back down next to my husband, our hands intertwined once again.

Alexander Hamilton stopped breathing on July twelfth, and so did I.


End file.
